A/N: I get this to you under less than ideal circumstances. My laptop took a dive, and I pray for it every day. Hopefully, I will have it back to me next week. I am borrowing computer time from a housemate, and stealing a little time at work. This is the second to the last chapter. It is so sweet at this point that I can hardly stand myself, but I can't seem to write it any other way. Please brush with your favorite fluoride toothpaste before and after reading this chapter and everything should be fine.

Sheila

Marlou rocks. Yeah!

Hope Springs

Chapter 19

This was a hell Grissom had never experienced before, and he hoped to never experience it again. Relaxing in the chair he had chained himself to was nearly impossible. Everything around him was electric with the visceral sense of her suffering. Voices and moans and beeping and concerned tones and the look on her face when a contraction hit; all of it overwhelmed him. The conversation around him had started to blur. Doctors and nurses checked vitals and monitored machines. Their voices were low and calm and Grissom found this surreal. They acted as if unaware of the tremendous crisis unraveling in front of them. Several times, they stopped to assure him that everything was going as well as could be expected, but he felt placated rather than informed. He stopped asking. She was battling shock and sunstroke, and was not feeling strong enough to help labor progress. IV fluids were being pumped into one thin arm. Patches and lines and machines kept track of the baby on her chest and belly. Everything was being done that could be done, but he worried it wouldn't be enough.

Another contraction hit, and a moan rose up her throat. Eyes squeezed shut, she rolled her head side to side, hair wet with sweat strewn in distressed tendrils on the pillow behind her.

Every gesture at comfort he offered felt laughable. He was telling her things would be okay when he had no real assurances of that reality. He tried to walk through her contractions with her as if he had some idea of the pain that seized her gut and forced her to double over, gripping the bed sheets desperately. But his words had no impact on her pain, and so he was forced to soldier through, murmuring platitudes and encouragement that he himself didn't believe.

Her moaning subsided and someone pressed a cup of ice chips into his hands. He accepted it gratefully, feeling for the first time that he could offer her something real. Gently he pressed a cool chip it to her dry lips, and she managed a weak grin. He took another chip, and slid it across her forehead and down her cheek. She let out a sigh and her smile widened. "Thank you. Thank you for everything." Her voice was thin and reedy.

"Shhhhh!" he ordered, "Just rest. Let me talk for awhile."

She swallowed tightly and nodded. He continued to gently massage her face with ice. "So I want to tell you a story; something to pass the time. Story starts a long time ago when I came to Berkeley for the 1st time as a visiting professor. I don't think I ever told you this. Let's see. Let's start with the fact that I was very nervous about taking the position. Didn't really think I was going to be much of a teacher. I mean, I had to teach a little in grad school, of course, but mostly, they allowed me to lose myself in research. I can't even really remember why I took the gig."

She started to speak but he pressed his fingers to her lips.

"I'm doing the talking. You rest. Maybe this story will even put you to sleep." He chuckled softly. "So where was I? Oh yes! I was nervous and over prepared. My plan was to drown the students in information and hope that they couldn't see that the emperor was wearing no clothes. But there was this girl. And I mean, what a girl. Brown hair, eyes, beautiful girl. First time I saw her all I could do was stare. I was 40 years old, and I felt like a dirty old man. I was sure that she could see me staring at her so I did everything I could to ignore her. While I talked, I looked everywhere but at her. But she was relentless, that girl. She kept asking questions. She didn't even care when I didn't acknowledge her. She jumped in anyway. By the end of that first seminar I was so unsettled, my face was hot with embarrassment. I was sure that everyone had seen me flustered over her. So I grabbed my books and briefcase, and left before anyone could try and talk to me."

Her eyes were closed and he wondered for a minute if she was sleeping, but she groaned and her eyes fluttered open when he stopped. "More," she said.

"Okay." He put another ice chip between her lips and she sucked it in gratefully. "Well, I was sure I had seen the last of this distracting goddess, but there she was at the next seminar sitting in the front seat. This time I let her talk. I answered her questions, and I didn't even care when our conversation began to exclude the others in the class. After class, I even spoke with her, and I learned that she wasn't just beautiful and smart, she was ballsy too. Looked me straight in the eye. Showed no deference to my position. I felt like I was talking to a colleague instead of a grad student barely out of her teens."

"I was 25," she protested.

He smiled at her and for a moment, they were lost in each other. He tucked a dark lock behind her ear. "Are you going to let me finish this story?"

She nodded.

"So I finally asked her out or she asked me, I can't remember. I had this conversation in my head over and over on the way to Humperdink's. I justified, I clarified, I lied, and I came up with a thousand ways to tell her she wasn't possible for me. But she was bewitching and I was out of my mind. I let it all happen. I never had a more amazing night. Every inch of her was perfect, and the trust and tenderness she showed me took my breath away. I didn't sleep for one minute. For hours, I lay on my side and stared at her sleeping naked, her breath rising and falling in her bare rib cage. A thousand times I resisted the urge to stroke her skin and whisper all my true thoughts into her ear. But, instead, I panicked. She was this deep, dark beauty, and I was going to make a fool of myself, and she was going to bolt the minute she really saw me for who I was. I knew I was doing both of us a favor when I waited for her to wake up and then pulled away--."

He stopped when she rolled her eyes.

He cleared his throat. "Well, that's what I thought. Anyway, it didn't work. My plans were to promise to stay in touch as a means of easing the disappointment, and then just disappear from her life. I knew that a girl like her would forget me in a heartbeat. But, as it turns out, I was not in control of this situation. I saw her face everywhere. I started twenty e-mails to her that I never sent. And I dreamt about her. So it had to happen. One day I slipped and actually hit 'send', and the rest is history. Every response she sent spurred me on. I was crafty and came up with professional reasons to talk to her. I even devised a way to get her to Vegas. But then I saw her and got scared again. I was a real shit to this beautiful girl. Scared to lose control; scared to learn the truth about who I was and what I was capable of. But somehow, this girl, she never gave up. She hung in there, and, for reasons I'll never understand, she accepted what I could give. She waited beyond all that was reasonable, and she forgave me all of my sins. But it took her leaving me for me to realize that she wasn't a choice, she never had been. She is every bit a part of me as forensics and entomology. She's my beautiful butterfly and the fiercest, strongest woman I have ever known. I couldn't survive her absence. I knew it. I might keep breathing, but my spirit would fade." Something caught in his throat, and his voice broke. For a moment, he chewed on his lower lip. "But this girl took me back. After everything, she still wanted me. The generosity, the fighting spirit, the courage…all of it amazes me every day I am with her." He leaned over and spoke into her ear. "Thank you, Sara. Thanks for being the woman who consumes me, the woman I can't live without. Thanks for giving me dreams I never knew were possible." He kissed her forehead gently and then rested his mouth there, his cool skin a relief to her flushed face.

She groaned as another contraction rose up in her. He gripped her shoulders, and did his best to support her through the pain. It seemed like an eternity before she was able to sink wearily back into the pillow and breathe deeply again. Grissom whispered further confessions into her ear until she dropped into sleep.

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Nick didn't even try to sleep in the hardbacked chair. It amazed him that people could, but clearly this was the case as evidenced by the bodies of Warrick and Greg bookending him, slumped in the hard chairs, one snoring loudly and the other one drooling and whispering things that made Nick's ears want to bleed. His lower back ached and he could move to the other side of the room, but he didn't. He was exhausted. They all worked the case into the night and morning, and now it 10 a.m., almost 24 hours since the attempted kidnapping at the park. He was sure that they would have already had a chance to peek at baby boy Grissom in the nursery, but instead they were greeted by fairly tense OB staff and the uncertainty of a closed off delivery room. Grissom had wandered out once in the last hour looking lost and blurry. He mumbled something about her resting and then disappeared back into its depths.

Catherine and Brass had only shown up in the last ten minutes, looking exhausted. The garbage man had a name: Rudy Kent. He had a trailer out on the outskirts of the city. They had all been part of the screaming caravan that sped to his place. The dusty trailer was hidden by a hill, and without directions they would never have stumbled into it. As always Brass ran a clean operation. He was in command without question. SWAT didn't blink an eye without his approval. But he did, and doors and windows were taken hard. Men with assault weapons scurried through openings, leaving a yellow cloud of dry clay in their wake.

Nick said a little prayer to himself as he did sometimes when the stakes were high. Standing there with a kit in hand and nothing to do but wait was unnerving for him. Shouts and banging issued from within the home, and he turned his head to see Catherine barking at Brass about compromised evidence. Jim stood there, his mouth a grim line, and stared at the trailer, never once responding to her. There were shouts from behind the trailer and a large man in a kevlar jacket and assault rifle started waving them over. Everyone broke into a run, Nicky turning the corner before anyone else. Men were gathered around an area that looked like a garden. Nick broke through the ranks and stopped short. Fresh dirt piled in mounds, three mounds elongated, about the right size for three small children.

He took a deep breath and buried his emotions down in his gut. The only reaction he allowed himself was the abuse he heaped on SWAT members who stood too close to the mounds. In a minute it was just him standing there with Brass and Catherine on one side and Warrick and Greg on the other. No one spoke. No one moved until Catherine took a keep ragged breath, and started organizing the crime scene. They worked the night, and discovered under the dirt exactly what they were expecting. The children were gently and carefully ferried to waiting ambulances and whisked them away to the morgue. Brass stared down at the dirt road for a long time as the ambulances sped away. He would be the one to talk to parents. It was never any good to pass it off to someone else. It felt just as raw knowing a subordinate had to be the one to destroy a family with devastating news.

Catherine followed him to his truck and climbed in. She looked back at her guys and nodded. Instinctively they knew they would be the ones to process the scene and Catherine would be the one to go with Brass and speak softly to the families and watch mothers dissolve in their grief.

Everyone trudged through the night solemnly completing the ugly work of murder investigation. Catherine and Brass didn't speak when they came in. They merely found a spot on the other side of the room and sat together in a weary, companionable silence. Nick knew that none of them would truly be able to rest until the stink of murder was countered by the miracle of life.

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"It's time to talk seriously about a Caesarian." The doctor stared unblinkingly at Sara. Grissom let out a deep breath and leaned against the back of the chair.

Sara groaned. "Just give me a few more hours."

Her obstetrician shook his head grimly. "I don't think it's going to make much difference. You're too tired. The drugs aren't working, and the fetus is becoming stressed. I don't see any reason why we should wait any longer."

"I want…let me think about this."

Grissom nodded at the doc, and turned to Sara. "It's a no brainer, honey. Let's get the baby out."

"I want to do this right."

"Then a Caesarian is the way to go," he said with some finality. He set his mouth and slowly nodded at her, one eyebrow raised.

"I can take more of this."

"Well Sara, I can't. This is enough. It's time to have this baby."

She blinked tears and slowly nodded. He stroked her cheek, and waved the doctor over.

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The surgery was amazingly simple. Sara was awake the whole time, and all the anxiety they were both feeling was alleviated with the calm, quick actions of the obstetrics staff. Twenty minutes after giving the nod, Grissom was watching his child be carefully lifted from Sara's womb. He felt dizzy, and his throat was thick with emotion. Instantly, he became worried that they would try and give the baby to him when he was himself barely staying upright, but they proceeded as if he wasn't even there. He turned his attention to Sara's sleepy face and grinned. His face was enormously hot and his eyes wet, but he felt like a hero. The tiny red baby was gently nestled on her chest and Sara cried. Grissom imagined he was too because he was finding it impossible to clear his vision.

"Do you like your son, Gris?" She sobbed.

The doctor chuckled, "I'm afraid we goofed a little on that. It happens."

Sara creased her brow and frowned.

"She's a little girl, Sara; a beautiful, healthy little girl."

Grissom threw back his head and laughed. "I have a daughter. Sara, you gave me a little girl."

Sara looked troubled, "We don't have a name for a girl."

"We can handle problems like this, Sara."

"I can't think of anything."

Grissom could see that she was genuinely distressed. "Hey honey, just rest. It's okay. I got it. I'm gonna find a name for her."

She didn't look relieved.

"I promise. Really. No names from Shakespeare. I'm going to figure this out."

Sara returned her attention to the tiny form in front of her. Two little fists appeared out of the blanket and the baby screwed her face up as she contemplated her new environment. Sara reached in and touched the tiny hands, so tight and furious. She looked up at Grissom, "Definitely has my temperament."

He was too lost in the moment to acknowledge her words. Every priority in his life had magically shifted in the space of a moment, and he was blank to anything other than the two females in front of him.

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Brass moaned and jerked away from the insistent hand on his shoulder. He settled his head in the back of the chair again. "Hey Brass! Wake up, man."

Brass's eyes popped open and he squinted into the face above him. Warrick's dreads looked like a halo around his face. "Jim, wake up. You're an uncle."

Brass jerked forward, his eyes blinking wildly, hair sticking up on one side of his head. "What? Sara?"

Warrick smiled at him. Behind him, stood the rest of the CSI gang, grinning like idiots. "A little girl, can you believe it? She was so sure she was having a little boy."

Brass stood up and shook his head once to clear the sleep. "Hot damn! Really! She's okay?"

"Yeah," Catherine engulfed him in a hug. "She had a C-section, but Gil says she's doing really well."

He let out a deep sigh of relief. He looked around and saw it on everyone's face. It was not just the relief for the baby and Sara. It was about the toll a life like theirs took on them: the death and the dishonesty and the inhumanity present on every shift. They needed moments like this; probably more than most people. They needed to know that hope still had a fighting chance in this world.

"Delmonico's," Catherine announced. "I already called. They are going to have the breakfast buffet ready for us: eggs, hashbrowns, french toast, steak, bacon, fruit, bloody mary's and mimosas."

Warrick gave her a look. "It's two in the afternoon and they have breakfast for us?"

She flipped her hair back and gave him one of her delicious grins. "I know people, 'Rick. I know people."

Sara slept hard. The lights were dimmed and Grissom sat quietly beside her. He was tired too, but the miracle of this baby had not yet left him. Images of the last 36 hours flashed in his eyes over and over; the excitement had yet to leave his body.

The door slowly opened and a nurse walked in with his daughter. "She's doing just great. I thought you might want to have her sleep in here with you."

Without waiting for a response, she placed the bundle into his arms. He pulled her into his chest carefully. He couldn't help thinking of her a pupa emerged from a cocoon. So delicate and fragile, but already surging with the need for discovery. Gently he unwrapped her, eager to explore the miracle of her. Her toes were so small and perfect that it took his breath away. The tiny fists lay on her round chest and he noted the almost complete absence of a neck holding up her head. Every once in a while, she breathed a sigh, and he found that he responded in kind. Then her eyes fluttered open, and for the first time, he was staring into his daughter's eyes. He understood that eye color wasn't clear at birth, but he was sure he could see the deep blue of the ocean within them. Her vision wasn't clear, and he noted how she responded more to touch and sound. His big fingers engulfed her head as he gently stroked her face. "Hi sweetie,' he began. Her face jerked and moved as she sought out the sound. A shiver passed through him and he spoke again, "We've been waiting for you, and your mom and I are so happy to see you. We are so lucky to have such a beautiful girl such as yourself come to be with us." He modulated his voice so that it was gentle and smooth and he could feel her relax in his arms. "We are going to have such fun, you and I. It seems that I have quite a facility for playing with little girls. We'll read books and build blocks. We'll find parks and take walks. I can't wait to show you all the amazing things I saw when I was a boy. I can't wait to begin." She closed her eyes and her arms stopped pumping. He could tell that she was concentrating on the sound of his voice.

"I have to find a name for you," he whispered. "I want a strong name, something beautiful. Your mom's right about Shakespeare, you know. His plays are not exactly riddled with strong, confident women. Lady Macbeth comes to mind, but she wasn't exactly one of the good guys. Plus I don't even think we actually learn her name in the play." The tiny hands were suspended in mid air as if she were waiting for a resolution to this dilemma. "It would be easy to name you Olivia. It's your grandmother's name and it's beautiful, but I think I want something distinctly yours. I have been thinking about the last nine months with your mother, and I found one moment when things really changed for us. It was the moment where I knew that we were meant to be. I am sort of stuck on that moment, and have a name I rather like. I also have a middle name, but it has no real significance other than Shakespeare invoked it quite a bit, and I like the sound. So let me try it out with you to see what you think." He took a deep breath and spoke, "Dakota Rose. What do you think of that? Dakota Rose Grissom. I am sort of nuts for it myself. Do you think your mom will like it? What do you think? We could call you Dakota or Rosie or if we are really ambitious, we could call you Dakota Rose. You have choices." The tiny mouth opened and yawned. He loved how the yawn took over her whole face. "In some circles, that would not be considered a resounding yes. Should we wait until your mom wakes and find out what she thinks?" He rocked her gently back and forth, saying the name softly over and over. There was a moan and he looked over to see Sara glaring at him with one eye open. "Get it on the birth certificate already. We like it. In fact, I suspect Dakota's tired of you fussing at her about it." Sara closed her eyes again and settled deep into her pillow. Within moments, the sound of Sara's breathing mingled with Dakota's gentle snores, and he found himself for the first time in two days, unable keep his eyes open.

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